


Eve's Pudding

by uncreativerabbit



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Brilliant Outfits, F/F, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Vulnerable Villanelle, bad baking, spoilers for 3x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncreativerabbit/pseuds/uncreativerabbit
Summary: Post 3x04, semi-alternative timeline where Villanelle is still in London.It is Eve's birthday, so inspired by a dessert, Villanelle breaks into Eve's apartment to bake for her and surprise her. However, unaware of what has gone on in Eve's life since their last meeting, she finds herself at the receiving end of Eve's chaotic emotions.Villanelle-centric, hurt/comfort, maybe a bit ooc, but psychopaths are hard to write. I also have not written any sort of fanfiction in around four or five years but was inspired by my grandma's old cookbook.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 13
Kudos: 211





	Eve's Pudding

Villanelle brushed the flour off the cookbook and traced the recipe with her finger. It was an old copy of Good Housekeeping that she had stolen from the house of her most recent kill, the wife of an accountant who had links with The Twelve. It was old - published in 1954 - , the pages yellowed and falling out, the leather binding worn at the sides but Villanelle was drawn to one recipe in it that made her take it away.

_Eve’s pudding._

It is, or had been Eve’s birthday recently. She had not seen Eve since the incident on the bus where she had been kissed and then head-butted by her ex on a very public London bus. She found a recording of it on the Daily Mail a few days later and watched it regularly as motivation to clear up business and sneak back to London before Dasha barged in with another job to buy some time. Villanelle could see through her bullshit, but she kept her paid and she wanted to enjoy her villa in Barcelona for a little while longer. _Maybe Eve would like it here._

Villanelle had broken into Eve’s studio before. The rent must have been cheap and Eve must have not realised exactly how many people had a target on her head since the lock could be picked with ease and nobody said anything while she was doing it. She assumed Eve might have added a bit more security after she popped by the first time to leave a gift, but she had not. There was a light left on to make it look like somebody was home but Villanelle had heard through Konstantin that Eve had rushed to Poland to try and fix her marriage. If only the moustache had known what was going on. Maybe he had seen the video? 

The flat was a mess, it was tiny and cramped anyway, but the floor was covered in dirty clothes, empty wine bottles and unwashed plates. The bin was overflowing with plastic instant meal containers and the duvet was thrown into a corner on the bed, stained. The smell of stale food was overwhelming. Villanelle sighed and rolled up her sleeves. She had a lot of work to do and not that much time until Eve’s flight got in.

Five hours later and she had cleaned, bleached, vacuumed, washed and hung laundry and taken out every bit of rubbish cluttering the apartment. She had thrown out most of Eve’s instant meals and replaced them with groceries and picked up a couple of basic cookbooks on her trip into the high street. She also planned to leave the copy of Good Housekeeping here too. No wonder Eve’s clothes hung off her, she hadn’t eaten properly in months. Villanelle looked towards the drawers that shapeless trousers and threadbare jumpers spilled out of and wanted to replace everything with fitted suits and luxurious dresses that she thought Eve would wear, but even she knew that would be too far. She _had_ broken in after all. She was not expecting to leave without a bruise, at least.

Villanelle was not too bad at cleaning. The Twelve paid her rent but that did not include any sort of housekeeping, so she had to do that part herself. Her cooking skills were not great, but she knew enough basic recipes to get by and could afford to eat out most nights. Baking, on the other hand, was completely foreign territory to her. She was not even skilled enough to make something that looked grotesque but tasted great. Everything she made looked bad and tasted bad. She had tried once before to make Eve a cake, but even with the best ingredients, it ended in the bin and her on the phone to a London bakery. She wondered if Eve enjoyed her little touch, or whether that cake ended in the bin, too. Most likely the latter.

Still, British food wasn’t renowned for its beauty. It was easy to cook, cheap stodge that used up ingredients and filled the stomach. The pudding seemed similar to the Shepherd’s pie recipe she had got from Niko - shove it all into a dish and let it cook for a while. Easy, right? Three plasters, a broken peeler and a spillage of flour later and Villanelle had thrown a sloppy mess in a dish into the oven and kicked the door shut. It didn’t look right but these things look better when baked, she thought. She threw the apron into the laundry basket and went to change out of her dungarees and into a grey tulle dress with floral applique. It was probably - definitely - a wedding dress, but maybe fitting for Villanelle’s expectations of the reunion. She loosened her ponytail and tied her hair into a messy top knot, instead. Villanelle got the black gift box out of the bag and tied a pink bow around it, placed it at the bottom of the bed and threw herself down next to it, her dress splaying everywhere. She leaned on the pillow. A muffled voice was heard. Villanelle recognised it as her own.

Under the pillow was the heart from the bear she had left Eve after their bus encounter. She had ripped it out of the pink bear. _Why was it under her pillow?_ Villanelle asked herself as she picked up the heart and rolled it around in her hand. She smirked, maybe that kiss on the bus was not just a distraction technique. What was Villanelle planning to do with Eve pinned, anyway? Even she did not know, but as circumstances go, this was the best outcome. Maybe after a punch might be an embrace. She lay down on the bed, holding the heart above her face, dreaming about what she wanted to happen once Eve was here. She had nothing else to do but wait for what demanded her attention first, Eve or her pudding. She glanced at the alarm clock. It was evening, Eve would probably be on the tube back. _Or the bus,_ Villanelle considered with a grin.

Eve was first. Villanelle could hear her grunting and swearing as she was dragging her suitcase up the stairs, by the sounds of the thudding. She gets up quickly, picks up her dress and hurries behind the wall by the kitchenette so that she is out of shot. She listens as Eve throws down her suitcase and fiddles through her bag to find her keys. She hears quiet gasps. Eve sounds sad. The key fumbles in the lock as Eve opens the door, Villanelle hears the creak, the light thud of the suitcase and then the keys as Eve drops them. Eve breaths in and holds her breath. Villanelle knows that Eve realises that she is not alone. Now is her debut.

“Happy Birthday, Eve!” Villanelle twirls out from behind the wall and throws her arms up with a wide smile. Eve is there, frozen in place. Her eyes are puffy and red, her skin is sunken and her trousers hung off her waist and bunched at the bottom. She looks ill. Villanelle’s smile drops into an expression of worry and she steps back. This is dangerous. She was nervous.

“I heard it was your birthday, did you get my cake? I found a recipe for some pudding so I thought I would make it for us and we could maybe hang out and watch a movie? You know, maybe we could talk and spend some time together, it’s been so long and I miss your voice and…” Villanelle rambled as Eve walked over to the kitchen where the pudding was cooking. Villanelle continued talking.

“Can you smell it? I bought other food so we could maybe have dinner together. It has apples and lemon and cake stuff in it. I found it in some recipe book I stole off an accountant’s wife that I took out. Maybe we could have Shepherd’s pie-”

An enraged scream cut her off. She turned towards Eve who was holding a butcher’s knife out towards her. Her wild hair was stuck to her face with sweat and tears. _Oh, shit._ Villanelle had miscalculated. Badly.

“Get out of my apartment!” It was almost too high pitched to be heard. Eve ran towards Villanelle with the knife out and Villanelle tripped over her dress and onto the bed. Eve was on her, pinning Villanelle’s throat and reaching for the knife again. Villanelle looked into her eyes. Eve definitely means to kill her. She dropped all sympathy for Eve, at this point she needed to save her life and mechanically fought back as if she was doing her job.

Villanelle kicked Eve’s legs which caused Eve to lose her balance and fall on top of her. She grabbed the hand that held the knife and forced it into the bed. The knife tore through the mattress and got stuck, giving Villanelle an opportunity to escape. Eve pulled herself up and went for the knife - probably thought she had no chance fighting Villanelle, unarmed. As Eve tried to pull the knife out, Villanelle pushed her off and rolled out away from her to stand up and try and move away. Eve left the knife and pulled on Villanelle’s dress instead, still screaming. The dress ripped and the tulle drooped, exposing some of Villanelle’s leg and sending her back into the table by the bed. Villanelle winced and touched her back, no bleeding, probably just a bruise. She knew she would not leave this apartment without one and she was right. 

Eve crawled over and slapped her face which knocked Villanelle to the floor. She attempted to assume the same position as on the bed, but Villanelle grabbed her arm. Eve was slapping her frantically now, they looked like they were scrapping on the floor like children. Villanelle managed to get up off her back while bouncing away the slaps and pinned Eve to the floor on her stomach, her arm twisted behind her back. Eve did not resist. They were both panting, trying to get back some breath.

“No, no, no!” Villanelle shouted. She pressed her body against Eve’s and moved her head right next to Eve’s ear.

“We are not doing this again, Eve. You stabbed me, I shot you. We’re even.” Eve moved to try and look at Villanelle. Villanelle stood up while Eve remained on her knees, holding her arm.

“I just wanted to celebrate your birthday with you. I baked you a pudding, I cleaned your disgusting flat because I wanted to see you. What is with this welcome? I dressed up nicely for you! You ruined my dress!” Villanelle accented this by holding up her torn dress and shaking it towards Eve. She was pacing as she was talking.

“I just wanted to talk to you! I wanted to hear your voice. Do you realise how I have been feeling since I realised that you were not dead? And then when I was walking past, when I saw you on that bus window? I got in a lot of trouble for that, you know!” Villanelle sulked and Eve scoffed, a disbelieving bitter smile on her face. She was still on her knees on the floor, arms folded, half-turned away from Villanelle.

“Get out.”

“Yes but Eve, you know I’m not going to so you might as well talk to me. I got you a birthday gift, it’s on your bed. I’ll buy you a new mattress, too.” Villanelle wandered over to the bed and pulled out the knife from the mattress, looked at it and then over at Eve. Eve’s shoulders were tense.

“I’m not going to stab you with it, it’s not really my thing anyway unless it’s a quick job. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to stab me with it, either.” She walked over to the kitchen and put the knife in the drawer along with any sharp utensils easily grabbable on the side. She heard Eve get up and walk towards her handbag. A note was thrown in her face.

“Sure it’s not your thing? You’ve still got it, after all.”

Villanelle picked up the note. On it was a scrawl with Eve’s words - _still got it!_ \- and a small splatter of blood. Villanelle turned it over, and then back. She couldn’t understand the significance of it to her, but was slowly beginning to piece together what Eve might have been suggesting. She had murdered someone. But who was Eve implying?

“I don’t understand. Where did you get this? Who wrote this?” Villanelle asked, studying the handwriting. It didn’t look like anything she had ever seen. Was Eve particularly close to her most recent kills? She did not recall murdering anyone close to Eve that was not Bill. The accountant was with her old MI6 boss when she took him out. Maybe him?

“You! You didn’t think I’d recognise that you like to leave notes? Do you not remember shoving a pitchfork through my husband’s neck?” Eve’s hands were on Villanelle’s throat again, her sarcastic, sharp tone turning back into a scream. 

She dropped her hands onto Villanelle’s shoulders and was shaking her, sobbing at this point. Villanelle’s hands steadied Eve’s waist and gripped onto her, trying to still her. She was not going to bear much more of this shaking. Especially for something she did not do.

“Eve!”

Eve stopped shaking her and collapsed onto the floor, Villanelle steadily dropping down with her, arms still around her waist. Eve clutched the tulle fabric of Villanelle’s destroyed dress and pressed her face into Villanelle’s thigh, crying. She cried out Niko’s name several times. Villanelle put one arm around her shoulders and the other in her hair, playing with it to soothe Eve and calm down her own anxieties and racing mind. The moustache was definitely gone now, and this should be happy news to Villanelle. Not like this, though. Definitely not like this. Eve started fidgeting and thrashing her arms, fighting off Villanelle’s hands.

“I didn’t kill him, Eve. I haven’t been to Poland in years. I would never kill anyone who I knew was special to you. He was always off-limits, even if I wanted to.”

Eve stilled and succumbed to her grief in Villanelle’s lap, but let Villanelle comfort her. Her sobbing and wails quietened to a subtle cry into the skirts of Villanelle’s dress as Villanelle massaged her head and patted her back. The two of them lie there, on the floor of Eve’s flat for some time. Villanelle’s opposing thoughts battled in her mind, and looking down at Eve, she could imagine that there was a conflict in her brain, too. She barely moved, though, only to brush the torn material out of her face to lean on Villanelle’s thigh. The grey fabric of the dress splayed around them like a muted halo.

Villanelle thought about her dress, and how after being ripped by Eve and then stained by her tears and snot, it would be unrepairable. The applique was delicate and the tulle was difficult to fix. She thought about how she had imagined the first time Eve would be at her thighs and Villanelle’s hand in her hair and the bitter disappointment that it did not turn out like that. Was she disappointed, though? This was the closest Eve had been to her since the bus, since she murdered Raymond and Villanelle had to guide her through the hotel, willing her to hold back her vomit. She has to be careful, even she can register that, but Villanelle definitely regards that this could be a maze to navigate to Eve’s heart. Eve already had Villanelle’s heart, it was under her pillow.

She also thought about Niko. It was undoubtedly her fault that someone had murdered him and tried to frame her. The handwriting on the note didn’t quite get her swirly calligraphy right but it was clearly an attempt to forge something similar and fame her. His death was down to her involvement with The Twelve. Somebody was trying to get close to her or Eve, or seperate them. The video of them fighting had done the rounds on social media - she had already been berated by Dasha and told to stay put for that - but maybe they needed to send a message to Eve too. While Eve was wrong to blame her directly for the murder, she was not completely uninvolved.

If this was eight months ago, the news of the Moustache’s death would have been brilliant news. Eve was beginning to lean on her. She could have swept in, dealt with her grief and Eve would not have had any reason to leave her in Rome. She would have run away with her and they could be setting up home in Alaska with two huskies and a lot of bad cooking. She could have persuaded Eve to lose a few of her unattractive suits and would have found her way into some of Villanelle’s high class tailoring and some lingerie. Instead it was six months on from Rome and they were on the floor of a dingy studio flat in London, bruised, teary with a relationship that was probably beyond repair. Neither knew how to navigate the situation, the air was thick with tension. And the smell of burning.

Eve stirs and shifts her head to the side, still lying on Villanelle.

“Why can I smell burning?” She asks, her voice back to her usual tone. Villanelle’s eyes widen and she rolls Eve off her and rushes to the oven.

“No, my pudding! I worked hard on that!” Villanelle had removed the now black pudding from the oven and thrown it against the counter, while Eve was batting away the smoke that poured out of the oven. Eve opened a window, trying to guide the smoke out before it set off the fire alarm in the building. Villanelle was glaring at the pudding, her nose wrinkled and her arms folded. Once the flat had cleared of smoke, Eve had followed her over and was looking at the pudding over Villanelle’s shoulder.

“Well, that’s fucked.” She laughed and bumped Villanelle out of the way to prod at the burnt pudding with a fork. She had to jam it in to even pierce the first layer, causing a snapping sound. She pulled the pudding apart to find that it was only slightly lighter than the top and still rock hard.

“What was it meant to be anyway?”

“Eve’s pudding.”

“No, like, what was the recipe?”

“It was called Eve’s pudding! It had apples and sugar and shit in. I got it out of a cookbook I took from someone’s house. I thought you liked British food and I tried to make a cake and I had to bin it and I thought this would be easier.” Villanelle had picked up the cookbook, still open on the recipe and showed Eve the black and white picture of the pudding.

“Well, it does look like the picture. They’re both black.”

“What is it you like to call people who piss you off? A dick, was it?”

Eve smiled to herself and wiped her face down with a tea towel. She sat down on her bed and Villanelle followed, picking up her dress. The heart, tossed on there without much thought by Villanelle, sounded. Eve picked it up and moved it onto the windowsill.

“I don’t want to talk about any of it.” Eve said. She refused to meet Villanelle’s gaze.

“Okay.” 

  
Eve looked up at Villanelle who was fiddling around with her torn dress, smoothing the fabric over with both of her hands. The material was now stained with a mix of sweat, tears, old mascara and general grime.

“Sorry about your dress.”

Villanelle sat beside Eve, both still looking straight ahead rather than each other.

“Sorry about your husband.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for a while. Eve did not seem to move, while Villanelle stole glances to keep on top of the situation. It was her turn to speak, but she could not find words that would keep the situation safe. Eve was still a bomb of emotions and she did not want to trigger the wrong one. She had defused the situation for now, but she knew that one wrong word or move could lead to another lash out. She needed to find out what happened in Poland, what happened in Eve’s head on the bus, why Eve gave up on trying to avenge her husband? Villanelle knows her, knows her background. She must know that Niko’s death probably had something to do with her indirectly and that in a convoluted way, she could still be blamed. She needed to stop Eve’s mind from ticking. That was when the black box with the pink bow caught her eye.

“I got you a present.” She picked up the box and handed it to Eve, expecting her to throw it to one side. Eve accepted the gift with a small smile.

“Thank you.”

She opened the box and lifted out the camisole, holding it up to inspect it. It was black silk with a lace trim and a pink floral pattern over it. There were matching shorts as well as a small pouch to store the set in. Eve placed the camisole back into the box and ran her fingers across the fabric.

“You’re beautiful Eve, and you hide yourself in these boring, ill-fitting clothes. I mean I would rather have you in a lace babydoll or a cute slip, but I knew you would not wear those. This is more practical and something that you might wear. It’s comfy. See, Eve, I thought of you when I bought this. I know you, now.”

Eve put the lid on the box and pushed it underneath her bed. 

“Aren’t you going to try it on?”

“I know you know who murdered my husband.” Eve accused her. Villanelle moved away from her.

“I don’t!”

“Well, I can see you have some idea of who may have murdered Niko. I want to know. Everything.” Her face was emotionless. 

“Maybe. But please, Eve, you have to understand. I didn’t want any of this to happen.”

Eve was silent but her eyes bore into Villanelle.

“What happened on the bus was recorded, Eve. I mean how could it not be, we were seen by so many people. And, of course, it probably got back to The Twelve. So they may have wanted to make it seem like I killed your husband to stop anything like that happening again because it brings unnecessary attention. It also would have dragged you back into that world, which would give them a reason to assassinate you because you know more than you should. But if they had killed you instead of him, they know I would not have worked with them anymore and would have probably killed them. Dasha keeps saying that I am very talented and they want me, so they knew that they needed to keep me on their side.”

“Who’s Dasha?”

“My new handler, I guess. She’s helping me become a keeper for The Twelve.”

“Where’s Konstantin?”  
  


“I don’t trust him.”

“Does anyone?”

“He was the one who told me you were alive.” Eve puts her head into her hands.

“Maybe she…”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Eve stood up and walked over to the fridge, throwing the groceries in it out of the way. Some fell on the ground and she did not bother to pick them up. She pulled out a bottle of wine and got herself a glass. Villanelle got up and grabbed the bottle as Eve was about to pour it. Her eyes were glassy and her voice was shaking.

“Eve, can we just talk? I, the bus, I liked it, and what I said in Rome, I mea-”

“I can’t do this. You need to leave. I can’t sit here and be comforted by the very woman my husband hated, the very woman who is responsible for his death, even if she wasn’t the one who stuck the pitchfork through his throat. He would be furious with me right now and I can’t do that to him.”

“I’m not-” Villanelle bit back, but was cut off.

“If I had never met you, I would still be living in a lovely house with a lovely husband who loved me. My best friend wouldn’t be a corpse in the ground and we would still be drinking together on Friday nights. I would still be going to the bridge club, I would still have my job, I wouldn’t be in a dingy studio in a shitty part of London-”

“I am trying, okay!”

“If you still cared about me, why do you still work for The Twelve? Can you answer that?”

“Because they know more about me than I know about myself.” A tear rolled down Villanelle’s cheek. Eve sighs and puts the glass away and the wine in the fridge, picking up the groceries and placing them alongside the wine. She walked past Villanelle wordlessly and started to unpack her suitcase, leaving Villanelle standing in the middle of the apartment, silently crying.

“Konstantin...they have my family. They know stuff about my family. I want to know.”

Eve switched the lights off and turned on a small lamp by her bed. Villanelle watched her move about.

“I’m tired.” That was Eve’s signal that she wanted to stop talking about any of this, most likely. Villanelle jumped on that opportunity gratefully.

“Can I stay here?”

  
  
Eve said nothing, but Villanelle needed the confirmation.

“Do you have a shirt or something I can borrow? My other clothes got covered in flour…”  
  


“There’s some in the drawer there. Take your pick.” Eve gestured towards a dark corner of the room and went into the bathroom, holding a toothbrush.

Villanelle went through the clothes, definitely not anything she would wear but for now, she could not think of a nicer comfort than to be wrapped in one of Eve’s shirts. She picked up a blue one and held it to her nose. It smelled like her. She dropped it on the bed as a ‘maybe,’ and held up a red shirt to look at it. The shirt had a logo on it and something about a bridge club printed onto the back.

“Not that one. Any other one.” Eve had come out of the bathroom and took the shirt from Villanelle. She put it back in the drawer and picked out a white shirt that said ‘meow’ on it.

“I bought it as a joke once after I argued with one of Niko’s colleagues. He told me to put the kitten claws away. I think it suits you better.”

“Cat like eyes with a sense of purpose?” Villanelle smirked.

“How do you…”

“Seems like half of MI6 also work for The Twelve.”

“You’re sleeping on the floor.”

“No I’m not.” Villanelle pouted as she clutched the shirt to her chest.

“Fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Villanelle went into the bathroom to lose the dress and get changed into the borrowed t-shirt. She kicked off the dress and kicked it out of the bathroom door. Eve was already tucked up in a blanket on the floor. She climbed onto the bed from the bottom so not to step on her. She noticed two glasses of water on the bedside table and a toothbrush still in its packet. Maybe Eve wasn’t as unhappy to have her there, after all. She took the toothbrush into the bathroom, brushed her teeth and climbed into bed.

“Goodnight, Eve.”

Eve grunted in response.

Villanelle awoke some point in the night to a beam of light shining on the floor. It came from the bathroom, the door was open a crack. She pressed the light on the clock. It was two in the morning. She looked down at the floor and saw that Eve was not there and the gift box was open with the camisole and shorts taken out.

Villanelle sat up and looked through the bathroom door. She could see Eve in the camisole and shorts, looking at herself in the mirror. She was right, Eve looked fantastic in the set. Her curls were messy but matched the black of the pajamas and the shorts were just long enough to cover her bottom, but showed off her legs. Eve was smiling, she seemed impressed, running her fingers across the fabric. She lifted the camisole up to her nose and breathed in. Villanelle was glad she spritzed a bit of her power perfume over the set before wrapping it up. She saw Eve pick up her clothes and threw herself down, back facing the bathroom door. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

She felt the bed dip and the duvet rise. The bed got a lot warmer instantly. Eve had gotten in with her. Villanelle could not bring herself to move because she did not want Eve to get embarrassed and go back to the floor. She felt gentle hands ghost over her arm, tracing patterns around the bend of her elbow. Did Eve know she was awake?

“I was right. You look beautiful in that set.”

  
  
Eve gasped and then chuckled. She must have not realised that Villanelle was awake.

“Well, I never said you didn’t have good taste.”

Villanelle turned to face Eve. Eve propped her head up on her arm.

“You have appalling taste. I have to take you shopping. I think this shirt is the only thing I like out of what you own, and this is a joke.”

“You look cute in it.”

“I look cute in everything.”

“You do.”

“Eve, you can flirt with me in the morning. You need to sleep.”

Eve turned away from Villanelle and pulled the blankets up to her chin.

“I wasn’t flirting.” She sounded annoyed. A few moments passed, but there was no heavy breathing or light snoring to give any inclination.

“Eve?”

“What?”

“On the bus…”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You kissed me with your eyes open. Will you kiss me with your eyes shut?”

There was not any response. Villanelle inched closer to Eve and closed her eyes, waiting. Eve did not say anything but she felt the bed dip again and a hand cup her face with a thumb gliding over her cheek. A pair of rough, chapped lips pressed against her own and Villanelle hiccuped in surprise.

“What was that?” Eve laughed.

“Why did you stop?” Villanelle demanded, sticking her bottom lip out. 

“Listen. We can talk tomorrow. I’ve just had a very busy day and then coming home to you in my apartment when I just wanted to bury my sorrows in wine and mourn my husband was just...a lot.”

“Will you kiss me again?”

“God, you’re impatient. Fine.” 

Villanelle felt Eve’s arms wrap around her and pull her closer. She pressed her hands against Eve’s chest - resisting the urge to have a squeeze, but now was not the time - and sighed as Eve’s lips touched hers. It was not a deeply passionate kiss, it was chaste and hesitant. Eve’s hand cupped Villanelle’s chin and she leant into it as her hands searched Eve’s chest for her heart. She pressed her palm in the middle of Eve’s chest and could feel a rapid beating not unlike what her own was doing. It was warm and very comforting. 

In the end, she had got what she wanted, the bruise and the kiss but knew that this was not Eve accepting her. Not quite yet. Villanelle knew that she would inevitably have to continue working for The Twelve and Eve would hate her for it. She knew that as long as Eve continued to know her, she might have to take out someone she loved. She knew that every touch put Eve in more and more danger. Choices were to be made, Villanelle could not have Eve and her family. She could not have The Twelve and Eve.

“Will you spoon me?” Eve’s voice was shaking. 

“Of course.”

Eve turned over and Villanelle wrapped her arms around Eve, resting her head on Eve’s shoulder. She felt a tear drip down onto her hand and squeezed her, nuzzling her head into Eve’s hair. It would be baby steps, but Villanelle’s choice was already made. It was always Eve. Eve who trusted her, Eve who was deeply empathetic and probably felt guilty for seeking comfort from the self proclaimed psychopath her husband hated. Eve who - Villanelle hoped that deep down - loved her. Villanelle was glad Eve did not die in the Roman ruins. She just regrets that Eve had to be shot.

They would just have to try again. Tomorrow was a new day to dodge knives, tiptoe around grieving mood swings and attempt to cook pudding, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Eve's pudding, Good Housekeeping, 1954.
> 
> \- 1 lb of cooking apples  
> \- 2 ounces of margarine or butter  
> \- 3 ounces of brown sugar  
> \- 2 ounces of sugar (regular/granulated)  
> \- 2 ounces of flour  
> \- 1 egg  
> \- Grated rind of one lemon  
> \- 1 teaspoon of baking powder.
> 
> Prepare the apples and slice them, add the brown sugar and lemon rind and put the mixture into a fireproof dish with one tablespoon of water. Cream the sugar and fat (butter), add the egg and beat well. Stir in the sieved flour and baking powder and spread over the fruit. Bake in a moderately hot oven - around 400F - for approximately 1 hour.


End file.
